


Pity Party

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [18]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Movie References, Preklok, Songfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: It's my party and I'll cry if I want to!





	Pity Party

> _Did my invitations disappear?_

"What's with renting all the Divine movies, Willy?"

"Isch my birthday." He grinned, shoving the films into his backpack. "Gonna have friendsch over. We're gonna watch 'em, 'n eat cake, 'n hang out 'n schtuff." What a beautiful day to turn 9. The sun was shining and everything was nice. "Isch Powdered Toascht Man'sch birthday too!"

"Your snake." The man at the counter rolled his eyes. "Right."

"She'sch on my neck, wanna schee?"

"I can see her, trust me."

"Okay! Okay." Bouncing with excitement, William dropped a fistful of crumpled bills and coins on the counter before skipping away. He still had a dollar left, which was enough to get an ice cream sandwich. Though he didn't wanna spoil his appetite for cake... he also really wanted ice cream. Prancing into Vostakova's, he pulled one from the freezer and paid without a word. Mr. Vostakova, after all, was not much of a talker.

The April weather was beginning to set in, as it had gotten warm, but not too warm. Sunshine and warmth all over. He sat on a roadside bench, allowing PTM to bask in the sunlight for a little bit, and chewing on his frozen treat.

Hey, some kids from school!

"Hey guysch!"

They turned and looked at him for a moment. William grabbed onto Christian Farmer's shirt, a tiny smile on his rosy face. "You're schtill comin' to my party, right?" Christian, Maxie and Benjamin all looked at one another.

"Yeah."

"Sure."

"Of course."

The excitement was too much to bear. He ran off in laughing fits.

> _Tell me why the hell no-one is here, tell me what to do to make it all feel better_

The cake was storebought and the decorations were minimal. Grandpa did his best, but there was only so much he could get off of family loans and welfare checks. He only had one party hat, for himself, and the candles were actually meant for setting on tables or in candlesticks rather than for cakes. PTM herself got some extra food as well as a cool little tunnel William made using toilet paper rolls and duct tape. 

"Like a brave exschplorer, she entersch!"

She coiled into the front of the tunnel. "In the darknessch of the cave, she beginsch her courageousch exschpedischion! What'll she dischcover? Maybe a new schpeschiesch of bat! Maybe a schecret ancient treasure! Maybe a--"

"William!" Distantly, he could hear his grandmother. "Quiet the fuck down!"

"Schorry!"

He peeked at the clock. Everyone was supposed to show up at 6. It was 5. He still had an hour before the guests arrived. So far he'd only gotten one present, from grandpa -- a plush rabbit that was at least half a century old. A missing arm and torn fur. He smelled kinda musty. But had a good face.

William plopped down onto his bed and clasped his hands together. He saw PTM's little face sticking out of the other end of the tube.

"Schuccscheschh! She'sch out! What kindsch of dischcoveriesch did you make, Missch Toascht?" He pretended to hold a microphone to her lips. She didn't talk. Just flicked her tongue a little bit. "Wow! A whole new kind a' mineral gemschtone?! We're gonna be rich!"

"William! If you don't quiet down I'll come up there and sew yer damn mouth shut!"

"...Schorry gramma!"

> _Maybe it's a cruel joke on me, whatever. Whatever. Just means there's way more cake for me forever. Forever._

5 turned to 6. 6 turned to 7. 7 turned to 8.

William was tired. Where was everybody? He reached for the rotary phone, dialing Genevieve De Merode's number. At the very least, a GIRL would be nice enough to show up, right? The phone rung as he tapped his fingers on a table. Click-click.

"Hello?"

"Hi! Hi, thisch isch William Murderfasche."

"...Yeah."

"...You gonna come to my birthday party?"

There was silence. And then giggling.

"Willy, it's April Fool's Day. I wasn't being serious."

"...Huh?"

"It can't actually be your birthday, right? That's kind of sad."

Click. She hung up. Hands shaking he dialed the number of Devin Jones.

"Devin? Devin, are- are you coming to my party?"

"No." A flat reply. "I don't want to."

He called every number on the invite list. Gillian was busy and Maxie was joking. Jamie had to get a check-up, Christian had better things to do. Trinity lost her invite, Rebecca didn't feel like it, Benjamin was grounded, Ryan was doing homework, Summer was helping around the house. Olivia didn't want to come to begin with, Steven thought it'd be funny to prank him, Cole didn't want to come, Richard and Tiffany were out on a crummy elementary school date, Frankie couldn't. Spencer and Mackenzie and a bunch of other people didn't even answer the phone. Everyone couldn't. By the time he got to the last number, he already knew Isaac Moore had an excuse. Turned out he was attending his cousin's bat mitzvah today.

A lump rose in William's throat.

Not a single person bothered to come.

What had he done wrong? He'd written the invitations and brought activities. 

He curled up in a ball and buried his face in his hands, fingers tangled in his coarse, curly hair. Stupid stupid stupid. He was so STUPID for thinking anyone would come. PTM coiled up his leg, giving him a little snake kiss and resting on his shoulder.

"...Crap..."

He punched himself in the arm and it hurt. He punched himself in the other arm and ended up falling over into his backpack, sending a rental copy of "Pink Flamingos" sliding across the floor. He stared at the cover for a moment.

> _I'm laughing, I'm crying, it feels like I'm dying . . . I'm dying . . . I'm dying._

His crummy rabbit-ear TV was from his parents' house, as well as the VHS player that came with it. He huddled next to his bed, turning the TV on and hooking up the player. The movie fell dead on his ears -- despite the simplicity of "Pink Flamingos", words just weren't settling in his brain.

Taking a bare hand, he shoved his claws into the soft dessert, grabbing a fistful of moist frosting and spongy chocolate cake. Without even thinking, he crammed it into his mouth. Crumbs and icing stuck to his pudgy, tear-streaked face. With his clean hand he wiped his tears away. His chest hurt and he wanted to curl up and disappear and die. PTM had returned to her tank, coiling around a thick, tank-sized branch. 

He grabbed another handful of cake, smearing it across his face. 

"Dammit shit fuck."

He whimpered. And grovelled. And cried.

God damn him, his cruel existence, the inbred-looking troglodyte he was. Fat and stupid and sub-functional. "I'm really gonna do it thisch time!" He'd never even tried, but he heard people say it. What were they doing? "I'm gonna do it thisch time!"

He wedged another fistful of chocolate cake into his mouth.

"I dunno what 'm gonna do."

His stomach hurt and he wanted to puke.

"Thisch time."

He was pretty sure that he'd heard his father say it when he was littler.

His face was sticky and hot and he was spitting and sobbing and snot was dribbling down his face. All salty and pained. Cramps in his belly and his chest and he cried and he cried and he cried. He wanted friends and loved ones. He wanted his mom. He wanted to be loved and he wanted people to talk to him. "God 'n heaven. Fuckin' help me." Icing was getting in his hair and, like usual, god didn't respond to him. Useless asshole.

> _It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry cry cry I'll cry until the candles burn down this place I'll cry until my pity party's in flames_

He woke up twice. Once in the middle of the night. The movie menu was still open. He ran from his bedroom and puked. He'd eaten too much and now he felt like dying. Then he passed out on the toilet covered in cake and snot. When he woke up he was late for school.

He felt heavy, trying to carry himself out of the bathroom. His bedroom was a gross mess and he felt awful about everything.

He could go to school. He could go, and go to class. He could say, "the party went great". He could say, "I had so much fun", he could lie and make everyone wish they'd shown up to his weak little sadsack pity party. But the energy just wasn't coming to him. He scraped cake off of his face and whimpered, he felt dirty and sick and hurt all over. There was nothing worse than letting people know how much it hurt. So he went to the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello, this is Jefferson Smith Elementary. What can I do you for?"

"Hi." He coughed, raising the pitch in his voice. "Hi. Thisch isch Schtella Murderfasche."

"...Hi." Fuck, she wasn't buying it.

"William hasch a flu and isch vomiting. Profuschely. Good- goodbye." He slammed the phone down into the receiver. It'd probably work. Last order of business. He took a rat from his live pinkie rat tank, dropping it in for PTM to eat. And then, he just crawled the fuck back into bed.


End file.
